All Fellow's Eve II
Well, im alive. Thank god for small favors. Although my head hurts and i have a carpet imprint on my face still. More later on that. The reason people would have wanted to beat me up was my costume. By no means a slip-shod, thrown-together affair, this costume was an effort of love from its conception over a year ago. well, the conception being at the time, i didnt have a full enough beard, and filed it away for next year. flash forward, Im bearded, and i can totally pull of what will be THE best costume fucking ever.. and now, dear friends, this is the man that i looked exactly like costumed
sans chef hat and big bowl of PASTAMANIA, of course. Im not that gay. i mean awesome. im not that AWESOME. So imagine me, if you can, a scrawny, non-musculatured, non-blonde stick with a horrible mustache and enough body hair to clog 5 drains dressed in red tights and a tiny yellow tshirt and a huge boa. This is one of the first years i havent looked in my closet and said...."hmmm, ill be a....zombie in an ugly shirt" I actually spent close to 50 dollars on this year. This is way more than ive spent on birthday presents for my whole family in a year. But thats just cause my handmade cards and Pine-cone birdfeeders are worth so much more than money. cause they're from the heart.
so the evening begins, and im a little bit tipsy cause i have the BEST JOB ever. Its a rarer day to have someone NOT say "hey, im running to the liquor store, wanna get drunk?". keep in mind, this is on the clock, in a costumer-centered workplace. so im a bit knackered by the time that my roomate comes home. he puts on his costume, which is arguably as gay as mine. hes a bandit. heres a re-enactment of how cool his costume is
So we set out for this b-day party at my managers house, as a way of saying "thanks for not firing me after catching me smoking that doob on my first week here" But, its not a costume party. Its a big, hetero, boozy dude-fest. I walk in, and even the crickets outside shut the fuck up and just stared at me. thankfully, no one wanted to kick my ass, or at least, tried to anyway. I quickly downed many glasses of their expensive liqour, cause, what the hell, im in tights, lets get fucked. soon, the party got a little too much. they were playing poker. POKER! how gauche. so we leave that, but not before i consume two hotdogs at dangerous speed. i honestly might have pickle relish in my lungs. Im gonna be fat soon. Awesome, then ill be able to do minimalistic dances, and look cool.
anyway, on to the next party. im feeling great, as the first glass of crown and coke starts to sink into my guts. we spend all our time driving around, not finding this place. ARRGH, im in party mode...for a bit. then, i start to have all the other 'C' and 'C's start to hit me. I know that this wont bode well if i continue in party mode, so before the other party of the night is commenced, i bow out gracefully. and by bow out gracefully, i mean stumble into my apartment, and end up lying on the floor; trying to stop the world from spinning. i wake up from i suppose passing out, and stumble my way to my room, stopping to check myself in the mirror. Vanity, thy name is steve. Anyway, I look like that village people guy. you know, the fruity one. yeah, him. except ive got a GIANT carpet rash on my face, and sprinkled intermittently through the redness are several pubes. (dont ask, suffice it to say, we need to invest in a vaccuum) the short and curlies are a quick fix, but as i type this, the next day, the distinct carpet impression is still fairly plain. That, coupled with the fact that the magic from my Hulk 'stasche has waned, and i look like the Edge, has led me to believe that i will perhaps never again know the caress of a woman. i know, i could shave my dirty Fu manchu that would better belong on a redneck, and everything would be right as rain. but halloween only comes once a year. so i think ill keep it for a while. At least until nascar stops being cool.
sans chef hat and big bowl of PASTAMANIA, of course. Im not that gay. i mean awesome. im not that AWESOME. So imagine me, if you can, a scrawny, non-musculatured, non-blonde stick with a horrible mustache and enough body hair to clog 5 drains dressed in red tights and a tiny yellow tshirt and a huge boa. This is one of the first years i havent looked in my closet and said...."hmmm, ill be a....zombie in an ugly shirt" I actually spent close to 50 dollars on this year. This is way more than ive spent on birthday presents for my whole family in a year. But thats just cause my handmade cards and Pine-cone birdfeeders are worth so much more than money. cause they're from the heart.
so the evening begins, and im a little bit tipsy cause i have the BEST JOB ever. Its a rarer day to have someone NOT say "hey, im running to the liquor store, wanna get drunk?". keep in mind, this is on the clock, in a costumer-centered workplace. so im a bit knackered by the time that my roomate comes home. he puts on his costume, which is arguably as gay as mine. hes a bandit. heres a re-enactment of how cool his costume is
So we set out for this b-day party at my managers house, as a way of saying "thanks for not firing me after catching me smoking that doob on my first week here" But, its not a costume party. Its a big, hetero, boozy dude-fest. I walk in, and even the crickets outside shut the fuck up and just stared at me. thankfully, no one wanted to kick my ass, or at least, tried to anyway. I quickly downed many glasses of their expensive liqour, cause, what the hell, im in tights, lets get fucked. soon, the party got a little too much. they were playing poker. POKER! how gauche. so we leave that, but not before i consume two hotdogs at dangerous speed. i honestly might have pickle relish in my lungs. Im gonna be fat soon. Awesome, then ill be able to do minimalistic dances, and look cool.
anyway, on to the next party. im feeling great, as the first glass of crown and coke starts to sink into my guts. we spend all our time driving around, not finding this place. ARRGH, im in party mode...for a bit. then, i start to have all the other 'C' and 'C's start to hit me. I know that this wont bode well if i continue in party mode, so before the other party of the night is commenced, i bow out gracefully. and by bow out gracefully, i mean stumble into my apartment, and end up lying on the floor; trying to stop the world from spinning. i wake up from i suppose passing out, and stumble my way to my room, stopping to check myself in the mirror. Vanity, thy name is steve. Anyway, I look like that village people guy. you know, the fruity one. yeah, him. except ive got a GIANT carpet rash on my face, and sprinkled intermittently through the redness are several pubes. (dont ask, suffice it to say, we need to invest in a vaccuum) the short and curlies are a quick fix, but as i type this, the next day, the distinct carpet impression is still fairly plain. That, coupled with the fact that the magic from my Hulk 'stasche has waned, and i look like the Edge, has led me to believe that i will perhaps never again know the caress of a woman. i know, i could shave my dirty Fu manchu that would better belong on a redneck, and everything would be right as rain. but halloween only comes once a year. so i think ill keep it for a while. At least until nascar stops being cool.
posted by Steve at 9:59 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home